


wake to the sun

by paravin



Series: last to see the light [11]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 00:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paravin/pseuds/paravin
Summary: Crow has limited experience with hugs. Saint tries to fix that.
Relationships: The Crow & Saint-14 (Destiny)
Series: last to see the light [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180733
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	wake to the sun

**Author's Note:**

> based on some of Saint’s idle dialogue. just wall to wall tropes in here.
> 
> loose follow up to [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066055) but can absolutely be read on its own. 
> 
> warning for abuse/references to violence (Spider doing the most as always) but no explicit violence.

“Baron, please...”

Spider’s expression is unreadable but Crow tries again over the screech of metal, “We looked everywhere. I know the intel said the crate was supposed to be in that bunker but Glint scanned every inch of it; it wasn’t there.”

The winch stops, letting the rattle of ether pipes fill the room once again, and Crow sways helplessly in the cuffs. His feet can at least touch the floor this time, which is a small mercy, but with his hands chained above his head, he’s still low on options to stop whatever punishment is coming.

“Then you should have looked harder,” Spider rumbles. He sounds almost amused as he takes a long drag of ether. “Unless you’re saying you don’t trust my information?”

Crow’s smart enough to recognise a warning when he sees one, and he shakes his head. “N-No, Baron, I’m sure the information was good, I just—”

“Enough,” Spider says, waving one of his lower hands. “This will be quick; I have other jobs for you. Arrha!”

Braced for the impact of the arc-pike or the whip or whatever else Spider has decided he deserves, Crow blinks in surprise when Arrha shepherds another Eliksni into Spider’s throne room. 

Pyrriks looks as confused as Crow feels, his lower arms folded protectively across his torso as he glances from Spider to Crow, but Crow’s heart sinks when he realises what he’s actually being punished for.

He’d run into Pyrriks a few days earlier. After a particularly brutal encounter with Spider, Crow had retreated to a far corner of the Shore to collect himself. Pyrriks had found him there while on patrol, but rather than ignoring him or mocking him for his weakness, he’d settled beside him for a short while to watch the sunrise. 

They hadn’t talked, hadn’t said a single bad word about their shared employer, but Pyrriks had slipped an arm around Crow’s shoulders to comfort him as he cried. 

It was the first time since his resurrection that someone other than Glint had touched him, at least for a reason beyond causing pain or asserting ownership. He should’ve known Spider wouldn’t let it stand.

“Come in, come in,” Spider says, his voice deceptively light. “Pyrrak, was it?”

Spider wouldn’t be doing this without knowing Pyrriks’ actual name, Crow knows that, but the effort to make him uncomfortable is clearly successful. Pyrriks twists his fingers together nervously as he nods. “Pyrriks, sir.”

“Pyrriks, of course,” Spider says. “One of my associates tells me you’ve been doing some good work for me lately. Very… hands-on.”

Crow closes his eyes. 

“I- I do whatever I’m asked,” Pyrriks stammers. “I’m grateful for your generosity, Spider. As always.”

When Crow looks up again, there’s a dark gleam in Spider’s eyes. 

“Excellent,” Spider says, steepling his hands over his stomach. “I’m always glad to have efficient workers among my employees. Particularly when some have been disappointing me lately.” 

Crow knows the comment is aimed at him but Spider doesn’t even look in his direction as he says, “You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you, Pyrriks?”

Pyrriks’ gaze darts to Crow for a second before he says, “No, Spider. Never.”

“Wonderful.”

He waves to Arrha, who steps forward with an arc-cudgel in his hands. Crow’s hands curl into fists in the cuffs as Pyrriks recoils in fear. 

Spider laughs. “Relax, Pyrriks. I’m not in the habit of hurting my faithful employees.” 

Crow’s entire existence is evidence to the contrary but he stays quiet. He assumes employees fall in a different category than pets.

At Spider’s nod, Arrha flips the cudgel in his hands and offers the end to Pyrriks. 

“In fact, I was hoping you would help me,” Spider purrs. “A demonstration of loyalty and gratitude, to someone who seems to be lacking in both.”

Crow swallows hard. “Baron, I—”

“Silence,” Spider snaps. The venom in his voice makes both Crow and Pyrriks flinch and Spider’s fingers flex as he takes another drag from his rebreather. When he speaks, his anger is cloaked once again in velvet webs, “I wish to put your arm to good use, Pyrriks. My little bird here has been lax in his duties. He needs a _reminder_ of his place.”

With a hiss, Arrha pushes the cudgel into Pyrriks’ hand, and Crow grits his teeth at the unfairness of it. He knows his place with painful clarity at this point — beneath Spider, beneath his men, beneath anyone else he might interact with — but that doesn’t make these reminders any easier to endure. Every slip-up has been corrected with ruthless discipline, from starvation to beatings to public humiliation, but being punished just for touching someone is a new and painful pill to swallow.

Pyrriks weighs up the weapon and looks at Spider with building dread.

Spider just waves in Crow’s direction with a chuckle. “Twenty blows, Pyrriks.” His tone dips closer to a threat as he adds, “I expect them to be good ones or I’ll have Arrha give him eighty.”

Eighty is enough to kill him twice over. Even if Pyrriks doesn’t pull his punches, Crow should live through twenty.

The baton ignites in Pyrriks’ hand, the metal wreathed with arc energy, and he meets Crow’s gaze as he walks closer. The sympathy Crow had seen in his eyes days earlier is still there, magnified now into pity, and Crow manages a tiny nod of permission when Pyrriks hesitates. 

It was Crow’s mistake, after all. He was the one who accepted some semblence of physical contact instead of remembering what he is; it makes sense that he’s the one who suffers for it. 

Raising the cudgel high in the air, Pyrriks puts his weight behind the blow, and Crow closes his eyes as it swings hard towards his ribs. 

He resolves never to make the same mistake again.  


———

  
Crow is fourteen minutes early to meet Saint for lunch.

It takes him less time than expected to pick up the delivery — as part of his efforts to provide Crow with new culinary experiences, today Saint has ordered sushi for them — and so he loiters in the shadows of the hangar as he waits for his appointed time. While Spider taught him the importance of punctuality, he also taught him how offputting Crow is when he’s too eager to please.

He’s careful not to let Saint see him but Saint’s booming voice still carries across the open space as he welcomes visitor after visitor with cheerful greetings. 

He moves with an ease Crow can only dream of, offering handshakes and pats on the back to passing Guardians, and Crow can hear the smile in his voice when he holds his arms out to an approaching warlock. “Come, hug!” 

The warlock laughs but steps back, holding up one arm, and Saint just shrugs. “No hug? Okay, okay, we will get there.”

Crow puts his shiver down to tiredness. The nightmares were worse last night than they have been in a while; Crow woke more than once to the phantom crack of arc-cudgels against his bones and the tug of Spider’s leash around his neck.

Still, his mind catches on Saint’s words, worrying over them like a loose thread. The memory of Saint’s arm around his shoulder is just as vivid as any of Spider’s punishments, offering protection rather than pain as they wound through the City’s streets, and he wonders for a moment what a hug from those same arms would feel like.

“Crow!”

Saint’s voice is delighted rather than chiding but Crow flinches anyway at being spotted. 

Saint makes a beeline in his direction, pigeon feed flying out of his hand as he waves to Crow. “How long have you been hiding here?” He pauses, glancing around, and then lowers his voice. “Wait, are you being stealthy on purpose? Is this a mission?”

Crow smiles. “No mission. I just didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You could not disturb me if you tried!” Saint says cheerfully. “And you brought the lunch too. Excellent! We will go up on the roof to eat.”

His hand rests easily at Crow’s back as he guides him up out of the hangar. Even as Saint explains about the sushi — the types of fish, the preparation, how to eat it — Crow can’t think of anything but the fingers splayed wide between his shoulder blades. 

He almost wants to warn Saint, or at least pull away, but as they begin the climb up to the roof, he finds himself asking quietly, “That warlock back there. Are they your friend?”

Saint’s footsteps falter a little. “You mean Osiris?”

“No,” Crow says, but the absurdity of the question draws a smile. “The one back in the hangar. You offered them a hug.”

“Oh, that one.” Saint shrugs. “No, I do not know them very well. Maybe soon, no? The Trials are always looking for new participants.”

The hand on his back falls away when they reach the roof. Crow feels its absence like a wound as Saint strides over to their usual spot looking out over the City.

“But you offered them a hug,” Crow says again, as though it will somehow make sense this time. “Why?”

“They looked like they needed one,” Saint says simply. He tugs his helmet off, setting it beside a solar panel. “So many Guardians are very stressed, all the time. Hugs can be helpful.”

With the helmet removed, Crow can see the smile on his face as he looks over at him. “Do not worry, little bird; I will not hug without asking. I know that not everybody likes it.”

He moves in closer and Crow’s heart leaps to his throat for a second, until Saint just reaches out to take the bag of food from his hand. 

There’s a void left in his wake when he steps away again, launching into a story about his failed attempt to replicate the sushi at home, but Crow doesn’t hear any of it past the blood rushing in his ears. 

“What if I asked?” he blurts out.

Saint pauses. His lights shimmer in a question and Crow tries to summon up whatever courage he has left as he stammers, “You don’t need to, of course. I- I just wanted— I mean, I haven’t...”

Saint’s movements are slow and cautious as he steps closer, the bag of food forgotten on the floor. He’s never mocked Crow for his failings, not once, but Crow’s still braced for having the request thrown back in his face when Saint asks carefully, “You mean a hug?”

Crow curls in on himself in embarrassment. “Forget it,” he mumbles. “It’s stupid. We should eat; I need to get back to—”

Saint wraps his arms around him before he can finish. 

Crow freezes. Spider’s voice echoes in his head but this time it’s Saint raising the cudgel, Saint’s hand curling around his throat, Saint snarling in Crow’s face about how no-one would ever want to touch him. His breath hitches with panic and he stumbles backward out of Saint’s reach.

Saint doesn’t pursue, just watches him with concern, and Crow’s hands shake as he tucks them under his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s humiliated himself enough times in front of Saint already but somehow he’s found new depths to plumb. “I should go.”

“You should stay,” Saint says firmly. Then, with a patience Crow hasn’t earned, “Would you like to try again?”

Crow can only manage a mute nod when Saint holds his arms out in invitation. He wants this so badly it hurts and it’s that pathetic desperation that drives him forward again.

It’s slower this time, Saint’s arms settling around him with care, and Crow buries his face against the cool metal of Saint’s chestplate as he tries to shut out his memories. 

Saint’s body is huge against him, brimming with every kind of strength, but rather than holding Crow down, he’s just holding him.

One hand comes to cup the back of Crow’s head, stroking gently, and Crow’s skin prickles with goosebumps at the sensation of someone touching him like this. It’s different than Pyrriks’ one-armed support or Glint’s constant comfort, but Crow doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer or more well-protected than in the soothing circle of Saint’s arms.

He reaches out in return, wrapping his arms around Saint’s waist in the same way he does with Glint’s shell. The scale is far different but he feels the thrum of Saint’s light deep beneath the surface, less familiar but no less welcome than Glint’s. 

Even through the armor plating, Saint’s warmth seems to engulf him, a tiny sun blazing deep in Saint’s chest, and after so long in Spider’s shadow, Crow wants nothing more than to cling to it until he burns to ash.

The heat lingers even when he eventually pulls back, and Crow can’t keep the smile off his lips as he eases out of the first real hug he’s ever had. 

When Saint’s eyes skim over him, Crow knows he’s revealing more than he should. However, he can’t bring his usual defenses up to hide it as he looks up at Saint with gratitude. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure,” Saint says, but Crow doesn’t miss the way he’s careful to telegraph his movements as his hand comes to rest against Crow’s shoulder. “Are you okay, little bird?”

Crow doesn’t know the honest answer to that but he knows the answer Saint wants. 

“I’m okay,” he promises. His smile is weak but sincere and he means it when he says, “You give good hugs.”

He fully expects more questions, about his nerves, about his past, about why something as simple as a hug could have this much of an effect on him, but Saint only nods. 

There’s no judgment or even suspicion in his voice, just the same kind reassurance he’s offered Crow for weeks now when he says, “For you? Any time.”


End file.
